


starting from zero (got nothing to lose)

by leighbot



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Kid Fic, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick fucking Grimshaw and his damned dog are disrupting Zayn’s entire life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	starting from zero (got nothing to lose)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weddingbells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weddingbells/gifts).



> This has about 99% less angst than I had originally intended. Whoops?
> 
> Thanks to my britpicker, [Theresa](http://treezrgreen.tumblr.com), and to my beta, [Tori](http://gentleantics.tumblr.com)! I can link to them now authors are revealed. Thanks to [weddingbells](http://archiveofourown.org/users/weddingbells) for the wonderful prompts, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title from Tracy Chapman's 'Fast Car'. It was my 'muse song' for this fic though the scene it was based on was edited out.

The thing about being a single dad is that people often think you’re a dad who happens to be single; that there’s a ‘single mum’ on the opposite side of the picture who contributes to the child’s upbringing. It’s a common misconception- one that Zayn is faced with on a daily basis- and he can normally ignore it but it’s really bloody annoying right now: Harry knows his situation better than almost anyone else, yet he’s still refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer.

“Haz, come on,” Zayn pleads, near-overwhelmed at the moment.

Zahir’s down for his nap and Zayn only has about twenty minutes before he’s got to wake him. He’s trying to get snacks for the upcoming week in order, but Harry won’t let him hang up until he agrees to come to his party, Harry having officially been confirmed as the face of House of Holland’s menswear line.

The phone slips from where he’d had it balanced against his shoulder, thankfully sliding along his jumper and landing somewhat gently on the counter.

“Just say you’ll come and I’ll let you hang up,” Harry cajoles, smirk evident down the line when Zayn gets his hand on the phone again.

“Tol’ you already, I’ve got Zahir. I can’t just go clubbing all night like before.”

Harry sighs, frustrated. “I don’t ask you for much,” he starts, and Zayn rolls his eyes even as he smiles. He’s heard that phrase before, every time Harry’s ever asked him anything. “All I ask is for your friendship and kindness, and right now you’re no friend and you’re not kind.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re impossible,” Harry returns, amiable. “It’s two weeks away, can you please- just once- let your mum take him for the night? It’s my first major campaign, it’s a big deal.”

Zayn’s quiet as he snaps the lids on the plastic containers, debating.

“I want my best mate there,” Harry says.

Zayn knows he’s being played with words like that, but he doesn’t even care, stacking the containers of dried fruit mixed with nuts in the cupboard and grabbing the fresh fruit from the fridge. He tucks the phone against his shoulder again, slicing up strawberries and mangos as he listens to Harry’s rhythmic breathing for a long moment.

Always bad at staying quiet during silent moments, Harry blurts out, “Zahir’s two and I think you’ve been out with me once since he was born.”

“Yes, and I was too tired in the morning to give him the attention he wanted and he cried for an hour because I forgot to sing to him when I gave him a bath,” Zayn reminds him.

Harry chuckles but doesn’t let up his pressing, trying for cheeky. “I know. But one day isn’t _too_ much, right? Just enough time to come out with your second-most favourite boy and have a good time celebrating my immense success.”

“Harry, I just don’t think it’s a good idea. We’ll do dinner or something else.”

“Please,” Harry whines, pout evident in his voice.

It should be ridiculous- Zayn has an actual toddler, he doesn’t need another- but he finds himself smiling instead at all of the different tactics Harry has used to try to convince him.

“I’ll ask my mum,” he concedes with a sigh of defeat.

Harry whoops loudly into the phone and Zayn adds quickly, “If she says ‘no’, then I’m not asking anyone else.”

“Like I’d leave that to chance. I called her yesterday and had her promise to leave that night open.”

Zayn laughs. Of course Harry did.

“Goodbye, Haz,” he says, hanging up on Harry and chuckling.

~*~

Zahir is the smartest little boy in the entire world. It’s not even Zayn’s bias talking, he’s honestly a genius. Nothing else can explain the way he somehow knows that the white wall in the powder room off the kitchen is the one that has just been painted and is clearly ready for him to colour on with his markers. The kid’s never coloured on a wall before in his entire life, but two days after the bathroom is done, Zayn finds him with his back to the door, red and blue markers in his hands as he painstakingly draws his masterpiece.

“Zahir, that’s not where we colour,” Zayn says, trying to keep his voice level after the initial shock has passed.

Zahir turns around and smiles wide. “Look!” he says, pointing to his masterpiece, as if Zayn isn’t aware.

“Yes, I know bub, it’s beautiful,” he assures, stepping inside and scooping him into his arms. “We talked about this, though, remember? We draw on paper, not on the floor or ourselves or, now, walls.”

“No,” Zahir answers, trying to wiggle his way out of Zayn’s hold.

Zayn’s too used to it, though, and he keeps his grip firm with one hand as he tugs the bathroom door closed with his other and flips the child lock.

“How’d you figure that out, anyway?” Zayn asks with a smile, kissing him gently on the nose.

“No,” Zahir answers, smiling as Zayn sets him down and lets him toddle off down the hall.

So it isn’t that Zayn doesn’t realize his baby is a genius. He just wishes he’d use his cleverness for something other than ruining the house- like toilet training, for example.

~*~

Every night for two years, without fail, Zayn has read his son the same story book his mum read to him when he was a baby. Zahir has surprised him with his constant fascination with the story, recently graduating to holding the book on his own and turning the pages somewhat in time. He can recite a bit of it with Zayn as well, his plump fingers tracing the words as they speak them.

“Goodnight stars, goodnight air,” Zayn leads him in the last lines, letting Zahir sleepily mumble the final few words.

“Goodnight noises ev’where.”

His eyes are closed, lashes fanned out on the apples of his chubby cheeks, but Zayn knows better than to assume he’s sleeping. He keeps his body relaxed with his son against his side until Zahir brings his thumb to his mouth and properly slips under.

Since he sleeps like the absolute dead, Zayn doesn’t worry too much when he gets out of bed and loudly knocks his knee against the side table, toys rattling about but managing to stay upright. He just sighs and corrects his footing, turning back to grab the book and pull the up to covers. It’s cold outside at night but Zahir has the warmest room in the house, so the blankets are thin and not anything like Zayn’s extra-thick duvet in his room, where one wall is completely made of windows. Not a great feature for the winter time, and hardly better as they descend into autumn.

Making his way to the kitchen, Zayn starts the kettle. He knows he shouldn’t have caffeine this late, but it’s part of his nightly routine now, and he steps into a pair of warm boots just as the kettle goes. He steps out to the back garden with his tea in hand, lighting a cigarette and shivering through it until he’s too cold to stick it out any longer.

He picks up his phone while he finishes his tea, sighing a bit at the dozens of notifications. Methodically, he clears the junk emails and works his way through the others, mostly from friends he doesn’t speak to anymore.

Since his routine had started when Zahir was little, Zayn’s gone through the same steps every night, and that includes saving Harry’s messages for last. It’s a long email this time, full of pictures from Harry’s shoot in the Bahamas for Coppertone. The mock-ups had been cheeky and right up his alley, and Zayn laughs at some of the candids Harry sent as a “teaser” before he sees the selfies he’d taken at a club, a crowd of friends around him.

It’s dark and the first couple of pictures are blurry enough that he can’t make out much, just Harry in the front and what looks like Grimmy’s curly hair somewhere behind him. Zayn has worked with the photographer a few times in the past, but he’s never really spoken to him much.

His response to the email is long, taking his time over each picture and critiquing it the way they have always done for each other. He attaches some pictures of Zahir from the last couple of days and one of his earlier fiasco with the bathroom wall. With anyone else, Zayn would worry that they weren’t interested in hearing about Zahir or the more mundane aspects of Zayn’s new life, but Harry is different. It’s been just him and Zahir for almost two years, but Harry has never let Zayn push him away. He just waits him out and comes around with presents for his self-proclaimed godson, pointed looks at Zayn until he sighs and lets Harry in, fighting a smile.

With his phone in its cradle on the nightstand and the lamp turned off, Zayn rolls into the middle of his bed and pulls the covers over his head. He’s on the edge of turned on, picturing himself in Harry’s shoes now, pressing up against willing bodies on a dance floor in the Caribbean. It’s a life Zayn doesn’t usually miss, but nights like tonight never happened to him before. He’d almost never gone to bed alone if he didn’t want to, but he doesn’t want to risk bringing home a random and he’s not even interested in looking for a more permanent someone.

He grits his teeth and rolls onto his back, biting at his bottom lip and getting a hand around his cock. His gut clenches as he brushed over the head, teasing himself for a minute before he goes for it, pulling himself off in quick, tight strokes. It only takes a moment before he’s coming, slicking up his fist and tracing his thumb along the vein on the underside, wringing a last desperate drop out of his slit.

It’s like being a teenager again, Zayn thinks as he stumbles into the bathroom and washes his hands. He gets back in bed, loose-limbed and relaxed enough that he falls asleep quickly.

~*~

It isn’t that Zayn is nervous about leaving his mum in charge of Zahir. His mum’s amazing; raised four children as she reminds him often. It’s just that Zayn’s only been away from his son at night a few times, and he doesn’t know how to feel. On the one hand, he understands his mum when she tells him that Zahir won’t even notice he’s gone. On the other hand, though, Zayn knows that sometimes Zahir wakes in the middle of the night and needs his stuffed elephant and an Urdu song to fall back asleep.

He reminds his mum of this, her face stoney as she shoos him out his front door.

“Sometimes,” Zayn says, turning back at the last moment, “he likes warm milk sometimes if he has a bad dream. The double-boiler is in the drawer next to the oven but make sure he doesn’t touch the stove. He’s fascinated with the way it turns red.”

Trisha rolls her eyes at him. “Aye, honestly? I’m not exactly new to raising babies,” she scoffs. “Why don’t you go have fun with your friends and Zahir and Grandma will be just fine.

Zayn wants to protest- wants to come up with an excuse to not go- but his mum doesn’t give him the chance, shutting the door behind him with a resounding _click_. She straightens the curtains next to the door, peeking out at him with a glare until he laughs and turns away.

He dozes for a bit in the back of the car Harry had sent for, probably knowing Zayn would find a way to flake. He’s thankful he got to read _Goodnight Moon_ to Zahir before bed, at least, but the book has a bit of a Pavlovian response on him, too. He’s craving tea and a cigarette something fierce, so used to following his routine. He’s also feeling a bit weary in his bones, but it may be a combination of somewhat dreading the night and also being used to a certain schedule. He’s nearing his own bedtime, like the true old man he’s become, and he pumps himself up when they get to the club, reminding himself how much he likes Harry’s friends and how he can make the best of it for one night.

~*~

Being in the club is actually quite awful. It’s dark and too hot, too many people in too little of a space. Harry’s texted ahead that he’s in one of the reserved sections off of the main floor, but even that is crowded. Zayn picks his way through people, eyebrows raised at the ones who grope at him as he walks by. Is this seriously how he used to live?

He finds the star of the evening after several minutes of searching, Harry’s bright eyes and pink cheeks belying how much he’s had to drink already. There’s a silly smile on his face when he sees Zayn, and Zayn knows there’s probably a matching one on his own.

“Zayn’s here!” Harry cheers, standing and coming to wrap him in a hug. He smells like beer and sweat, his expensive cologne giving Zayn a headache almost immediately.

“You take a bath in that, babe?” Zayn asks with a smile, returning the hug and pulling back.

Harry pouts at him, his lips slick and full. “No being mean on my day,” he says, eyes narrowed.

“Congratulations,” Zayn says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Just like that, Harry’s smiling again. He’s always been easy like that with Zayn, somehow the two of them maintaining a friendship in an industry that typically tears people down and apart. Harry takes his hand and drags him around the group, introducing Zayn to some of his newest friends and reintroducing him to people he’s forgotten Zayn already knows.

Two years is a long time to be out of the business, so Zayn doesn’t blame him for almost forgetting his previous life. He laughs when Harry finally drags him to Nick Grimshaw.

“I remember you,” Grimmy says, smiling wide and holding out his hand. Zayn takes it easily, having only pleasant memories of his brief experiences with the older lad.

“I forget sometimes, you know most of these people,” Harry says, laughing at himself.

“Oh yeah, Grimmy and I go farther back than you two,” Zayn’s saying, but Harry’s distracted by someone coming up and talking to him.

“Call me Nick,” he says, pulling Zayn’s attention from Harry.

“Nick,” Zayn repeats, “I can handle that.”

There’s a brief moment where Zayn eyes him warily, a bit of an ‘old best mate sizing up the new best mate’ look, but he smiles again after a second. Nick’s good people and Harry’s got better taste in friends now than he had at the beginning; Zayn isn’t worried.

Harry takes off all of a sudden, someone new probably showing up and distracting him, and Zayn spends some time with Nick, drinking a beer and standing off to the side.

He hadn’t realized how many times he’d worked with the older lad, Nick’s admission that their first shoot was actually an ‘Urban Jungle’ theme for Calvin Klein and not a pop star’s perfume ad like Zayn had thought.

“Was that the shoot in Tuscany?” he asks, brows furrowed as he thinks back.

“Yeah, the main model was supposed to be wearing a truly hideous tiger-striped wig but then it got ruined somehow-”

“No, no,” Zayn interrupts, brow smoothing as he remembers. “It got stolen by goats or sheep or sommat! Some from the next farm over came and took it away, they thought it was carrots.”

“That’s right!” Nick giggles, flagging down a waitress and smiling bright as he orders them another drink each.

Zayn’s surprisingly charmed when Nick asks him what he’s up to lately. He must know the story, for all that Zayn’s never been particularly famous like Harry, he still gets a bit of attention to this day and his sudden “acquisition” of a baby had been decent-sized news in their world for a while, especially when he’d never revealed who Zahir’s mum is.

“I’ve got a son,” he says, surprised when the waitress is back with their drinks so quickly.

He sips his beer slowly while Nick shouts to her above the music that he wants another shot taken over to Harry, as well.

“Gonna get him sick,” Zayn laughs when she leaves.

“Not crashing on my sofa tonight,” Nick shrugs, pressing his hand to his mouth when he laughs. “He’s got to man up sometime, Henry takes all of his muses out to get pissed.”

Zayn grins around the bottle as he takes another pull off his beer, completely aware when Nick’s gaze drops to his mouth. The attention from the photographer is nothing new- Zayn’s been watched by people his whole life; it’s how he fell into modeling in the first place- but there’s something different about Nick’s gaze that makes him flush hot when their eyes meet again.

He looks away, trying to appear disinterested and aloof. It had always come easy to him before, but something about being out of this lifestyle and immersed in the simpler day-to-day with Zahir has made him feel like all of his emotions are plain on his face.

“So, you’ve a son,” Nick says after a moment. Zayn looks back at him briefly before returning his gaze to the dancefloor.

“Yeah, just under two.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say he’s “eleventy months” or sommat? Be all obnoxious with it?”

Zayn laughs, can’t help it. Nick’s smile is delighted when Zayn turns to him again, back to the crowd.

“Is that a Lord of the Rings reference?” he asks. “No wonder you and Haz are friends.”

“Oh yeah, I’m a huge nerd for Tolkien. That, or Orlando Bloom.”

“Can’t decide which?” Zayn teases, tongue pressing against the back of his teeth.

“It’s a battle I fight every day. Now tell me about your boy.”

“He’s a little menace but he’s the best thing I’ve ever done with my life,” Zayn answers promptly, enjoying the surprise on Nick’s face at the ‘menace’ part, Zayn is assuming, before Nick starts laughing.

“Your legions of fans for your Armani shoots would disagree,” Nick says after a moment.

“You one of them, then?” Zayn asks, feeling bold.

Nick shrugs and grins slyly, and Zayn realizes how close they’ve shifted together while they’ve been talking. It serves the purpose of allowing Zayn to hear what he’s saying, but it also is giving him the chance to let the smell of his cologne hit his senses. He blinks slowly when he smells it, something light and almost flower-like that doesn’t add to Zayn’s headache and almost seems to soothe it.

“What else have you been doing with yourself, beauty?”

The way Nick calls him ‘beauty’ catches Zayn by surprise. It isn’t the way people who are trying to charm him normally speak: there’s no undercurrent of wanting to please Zayn or get on his good side, no smarmy undertone of someone who wants to get off with him and walk away. It’s sweet, makes Zayn feel warm inside.

“Nothing,” he answers honestly, before he lets himself think about it.

“Nothing?” Nick parrots back.

He shrugs, unsure. He isn’t used to being open with people he doesn’t know, only Harry close to him outside of his family, so he isn’t sure why he’s telling Nick anything at all. “S’a bit of a full-time job, since his mum left,” he explains. And just, what? He doesn’t know why he’s said that at all.

“Can’t be easy,” Nick concedes. “I thought you wanted to design, though? You were always doodling on shoots and making suggestions.”

Zayn thinks guiltily of the sketchbook on his bookshelf that’s been sitting untouched for almost a year, hardly having time or inspiration to go back to it.

“Got any pictures of the little ‘un?” Nick asks after a moment of awkward silence.

Relieved, back on a conversation thread he’s entirely more interested in, Zayn leans forward and slips his phone out of his back trouser pocket. He keys in his passcode and thumbs to his photo gallery, turning so Nick can look over his shoulder. Heat spreads throughout his body when Nick reaches an arm around him to point to one photo in particular, the inside of his arm brushing Zayn’s bicep.

“Looks like you a lot here,” he says, pointing to a picture of him pouting, probably taken a moment before a full-out meltdown.

“Think he was mad here because I wouldn’t let him help with the knife when I was chopping veg,” Zayn admits.

Nick chuckles, chest right against Zayn’s back. “That’s you when I’d try to convince you we’d gotten the best angle. You never believed me, always wanted me to take another roll’s worth.”

“I never,” Zayn says, as prim as he can make himself sound. He turns his cheek slightly and looks up at Nick from beneath his eyelashes.

“Pish posh,” Nick says, possibly even un-ironically. “You were such a perfectionist, beauty.”

It’s the second time he’s said it but Zayn still swoons a bit internally, irritated with himself. He needs to listen to Harry and get out of the house more if a morsel of attention from a fit lad is all it takes to woo him now.

He realizes he’s been staring at Nick so long his phone screen is locked again, and he tears his gaze away and looks down at his hands. Nick comes around to his front, bringing one hand up to Zayn’s chin and tilting his face so he can meet his eyes again.

“Um,” he mumbles, somehow out of his element.

“This okay?” Nick asks, green eyes pulling him in.

Zayn tries to shrug, tries to show disinterest, but he’s pretty sure the entire club can hear his heart beat just a little faster.

“I’d really like to kiss you, but I won’t unless you say it’s okay,” Nick says, leaning in just a little.

Zayn’s lips part around a breath and he nods. “It’s okay, yeah, s’okay,” he bites out, eyes closing when Nick closes the distance and kisses him gently.

He pulls back too quickly for Zayn’s liking. “Been wanting to kiss you for a long time,” he admits with a smile, coaxing Zayn into grinning back.

He lets Nick pull further away and motion for a waiter. He smiles when the same girl as before comes over.

“Another round?” she asks, voice deceptively low over the loud music, as if they’re having a regular conversation and not surrounded by pounding bass and shouted conversations.

“Please,” Zayn confirms, eyes stuck on Nick’s mouth.

“How ‘m I supposed to woo you with my brilliant wit if you’re staring at my mouth.”

“It’s nice,” Zayn says, looking back in Nick’s eyes.

“‘Course it is, but me eyes are up here.”

He plays along, keeping eye contact like they’re in a staring contest until their waiter brings them their drinks. He downs what feels like half of the bottle at once, noting when Nick’s eyes fall to his lips again.

“Not following your own rules,” Zayn teases, pointing to his eyes when the look lasts longer than he’d expected.

“Ugh, right,” Nick bitches good-naturedly. He leads Zayn over to an outlying booth, sliding in next to him instead of taking the bench across the table.

“What do you want to talk about?” Zayn asks, knowing the way Nick’s pressed to his side doesn’t have anything to do with the noise in the club.

“War, politics, religion,” Nick says, one hand along the back of the booth and the other reaching up to run along Zayn’s arm. Gooseflesh breaks out wherever Nick touches, and Zayn lets out a small sigh. “Important things, of course,” Nick says after the pause, Zayn needing a minute to remember the conversation. “I’m not just a pretty face, meself. I quite like talking about… all of those things.”

Zayn laughs, honest and loud, and he brings a hand up to trace the outline of Nick’s chest through his sheer shirt, catching a pinky finger on the first done up button.

“You gonna kiss me or you just gonna keep looking at me?” he asks, chin defiant.

Nick answers that question in the very best way, crowding Zayn further into the booth and bringing their mouths together again.

~*~

Zayn knows that getting caught with a boy in the toilets is hardly better than having a random hookup leak details or pictures of him and his son but, when he crowds Nick into a stall and sinks to his knees, he doesn’t really care.

He keeps his eyes on Nick’s face, using his hand to fist the base of his cock and focusing on the head with his lips, playing with the foreskin just enough that Nick curses and pushes his hand through Zayn’s buzzed hair, fingers trying to find purchase.

“Tease,” Nick accuses around a sigh, his eyes heavy as he looks down at Zayn.

The attention spurs him on, makes him hum a bit and take Nick further, closing his eyes and bobbing on his length.

So much about Nick surprises him. He’s decent enough to not only warn Zayn he’s coming but also to pull away as he does, spilling across his own fingers as he bites out a few choice swear words.

“That was ridiculous, looks like I haven’t got any stamina,” Nick mutters jokingly, wiping his hand with a bit of loo roll.

Zayn would laugh- honest he would, at least a little chuckle of acknowledgment- but he’s so hard in his jeans that it hurts, and he presses his forehead to Nick’s exposed hip, dragging his zip down and fumbling to get his cock in hand.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Nick says once he’s come down a bit and sees what Zayn’s doing. “You’re not taking something like this away from me.” He pulls Zayn up and kisses him for a bit, before sinking to his knees and opening his mouth.

Zayn’s so hot for it he nearly finishes when Nick sticks his tongue out first to press under the head, lips molding around his cock as he gets it slick. It’s still over too soon, though he lasts past what Nick had. Maybe. He should be embarrassed but he isn’t, couldn’t care less. He means to pull out like Nick had but he can’t with Nick’s huge hands gripping his bum and keeping him close as he works his throat, evan after Zayn warns him. Zayn just about shouts when he feels it, hasn’t had a mouth on him in too long and quickly grows too sensitive as he comes down.

Nick grins at him when he pulls off. “Been a while, beauty?” he asks, tucking Zayn back in and standing.

Zayn shushes him and brings their lips together, panting into his open mouth and sharing their taste. It’s never pleasant, tasting his own cock, but knowing where Nick’s mouth has just been _is_ pleasant; enough for him to ignore it and lick in deeper.

Nick’s hands are huge against his back, fingers thin and long as they slip under the waistband of his still undone jeans.

“Let’s go somewhere,” Zayn whispers in the too-quiet bathroom, the loud bass muted through the walls.

Nick looks at him for a moment, sizing him up almost, but then he nods and they head out together, Zayn calling the driver to the back door so they can slip out undetected. He looks around for Harry but doesn’t go over, smiling when he sees him surrounded by people and wearing a tiara and sash someone must have brought him declaring him the ‘Prince of HoH’.

Instead, he takes Nick’s hand and the club manager lets them out the back, Nick’s hand warm in his own for the car ride.

~*~

Nick’s downtown flat is completely different from Zayn’s lived-in Primrose Hill townhouse, the walls clinical and bare. Zayn hesitates when he steps in the door, staring wide eyed at the mess in the middle of the floor.

“I’m moving,” Nick explains, pressing against Zayn’s back after the door slips shut.

“You got robbed,” Zayn corrects him, laughing a bit.

“Oi, I’m just not good at things like this.”

“Being organized?”

“Yes, _beauty_ ,” Nick laughs the word like it’s an insult but it’s too fond to be, “I’m rubbish at being organized. I’m good at other things, though.” His voice drops, gets deep and rich where he’s talking right against Zayn’s ear.

“I’m sure you are,” he repeats, affecting a bored drawl, but he goes eagerly when Nick leads him into the bedroom and presses him into the mattress, straddling his waist and folding himself so he can kiss Zayn soundly. Zayn lets himself mess with Nick’s hair now, messing the curls up with his fingers as he loses himself in the kiss.

It’s a brief moment, this night. He’ll leave in the morning, everything will go back to normal, but he’s going to take advantage of his ‘night off’.

He might not ever let himself have another.

~*~

Zayn kind of hates going to their neighbourhood park but he knows how much Zahir loves it- loves the other little kids and the pretty mums. His child is a completely infatuated with the other parents, loves the way they fawn over him as he hides his face in Zayn’s shirt.

“He’s shy,” Zayn excuses him, knowing he’s lying through his teeth. His beautiful little boy isn’t shy in the slightest, but he has learned that _acting_ shy will normally get him even more attention. Zayn’s got to hand it to him, if he were the type to try and pull one of the mums, it wouldn’t take much convincing; Zahir’s the best wing-man he’s ever had.

Zahir wiggles to get down, toddling over to the slide and crawling up the steps. It’s low to the ground, but Zayn keeps an eye on him anyway, chatting with the other parents for a bit. They’re all nice women, have never sold his discarded gum wrappers or anything like that. They’ve always given him advice- sometimes solicited and sometimes not- and he doesn’t think they judge his ignorance too much.

He’s watching as Zahir approaches a little girl, the two of them babbling at each other excitedly. He’s smiling at the interaction, completely not paying attention to the women around him, until the sound of his name pulls him away from watching Zahir and his new friend.

“It’s you, Zayn.”

Confused, he turns to look at who is speaking. “Whassat?” he mumbles.

She holds out the magazine she’d been flipping through, his Armani underwear spreadsheet flipped open. He flushes and scowls, frown deepening when the other mums all start simpering and snatching for the page.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles around a grin. “You lot act like you’re hard up for it.”

“We’ve just never seen anyone pretty as you, sweetie,” one of the older mums says, dimples in her cheeks making her appear a decade younger. “Something to think about.”

“Perv,” he snaps back with a full grin, turning around and back to Zahir. What he sees makes his heart stop, though: Zahir, sat on his bottom in the wood chips, little girl now gone but a white bull terrier in a black harness nosing at him excitedly.

“Doggie!” Zahir yells when Zayn rushes up to him. He doesn’t want to startle the dog, so he picks Zahir up slowly and settles him on his hip.

The dog stands on her hind legs and continues sniffing at Zahir, tongue lolling out of her mouth in an almost smile. Her tail is wagging like crazy, beating up the wood chips and clearing a space.

“Shoo,” he says, tightening his grip around Zahir, who is struggling to get down and beating at Zayn’s shoulder in frustration. “I mean it, go away,” Zayn mutters.

The dog just barks, quite loud but still seemingly friendly, and Zahir’s less than a minute away from screaming bloody murder. Zayn frowns down at the pup. She smiles up at him, panting a bit and cocking her head to the side when Zahir repeats ‘doggie’ into Zayn’s shoulder.

A shrill whistle causes her to look around, barking excitedly some more and running off. He’s so relieved the weird creature left that he almost doesn’t mind at all the whimpering from Zahir.

“We don’t play with dogs we don’t know,” Zayn says, trying to be stern. It’s hard to, though, always is when his son is being ridiculous. “You don’t know if the dog is going to bite you or sommat.”

He and Zahir are both distracted when someone approaches, and Zayn feels cold dread again when he looks up and sees Nick, the bull terrier on a lead clutched in his hands. She’s pulling him towards them determinedly.

“Sorry about that, beauty,” Nick says when he’s close. “She’s normally okay with playing fetch but today she took off and came straight here.”

“Keep your wild animal contained,” Zayn glares, ignoring the thrill he feels when Nick calls him ‘beauty’ again.

“Pig’s not wild, she’s perfect,” Nick says in a baby voice, squatting down to scratch at her ears.

“Doggie!” Zahir shouts in his ear.

“Yes, doggie,” Zayn repeats. “Doggie’s going home now, though, so she can’t stick around.”

“I haven’t got anywhere to be,” Nick says with a smile, looking up at them and squinting in the light. “If your son wants to pet her…” he trails off.

“Doggie, doggie!” Zahir continues, kicking out and smacking his open hand against Zayn’s cheek.

“I shouldn’t reward your bad behavior, you miscreant,” Zayn says, sighing a bit and walking over to a nearby picnic table and motioning Nick to follow. He sits down with his back to the table, Zahir propped in his lap. He keeps an eye on Pig as she approaches, sniffing and licking Zahir’s outstretched hand.

“Doggie,” Zahir sighs with contentment, petting her. He’s being a little rough but Pig doesn’t seem to mind, still as excitable as before.

“Your dog needs Ritalin,” Zayn says derisively. “And some training lessons.”

“I know, she’s awful,” Nick says with a hint of pride in his voice.

They sit quietly for a moment, Pig’s front feet on Zayn’s knees and Zahir leaning in to hug her gently with Zayn’s help.

“I didn’t know you lived around here,” Zayn says.

“Just moved in, actually. Been in Primrose Hill only for the one night.”

“That explains it then.”

They sit in silence again, slowly becoming awkward.

“Why’d you leave? Last week, why did you go without waking me?” Nick asks.

Zayn looks at him, eyes wide. “Not exactly an appropriate time to discuss this,” he says, indicating his son.

“They’re not paying attention,” Nick dismisses, including his dog. “Why? I thought we had a nice time.”

“I’ve a kid, I don’t have time for ‘nice times’, Nick. I need to focus my energy on Zahir. I shouldn’t have let myself get swept up that night.”

Nick nods, lips pursed but forehead smooth under his quiff. “Makes sense,” he says, smiling when he looks Zayn in the eye.

“I know your model track record,” Zayn says, trying for teasing. The easy smile leaves Nick’s face, though, and Zayn feels like he’s missed a step going down.

“Well, my reputation does precede me,” Nick says after a moment. He stands, towering over Zayn. “I better be off, we’ve a flight to catch in a few hours.”

“Enjoy it,” Zayn says, watching Nick walk away, having to tug at Pig’s lead more than a couple times to get her to go. Zahir whimpers again like he had been earlier, but he doesn’t fight when Zayn props him on his hip again and leads him out of the park. They wave goodbye to the mums, Zahir smiling at them before resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder and falling into a doze as Zayn sets off on the quick ten minute walk home.

~*~

It’s been so long since Zayn had looked through his sketchbook that he finds himself surprised with some of his previous designs a couple nights later, expanding on some of his work before turning to a new page and starting a new design- an off-white blouse with brown geometric designs. He doesn’t love it when it’s finished, but he’s back to sketching and that feels nice.

When he’s put the book back on its shelf, he becomes aware of a scratching sound echoing in his townhouse and he spends a good few minutes trying to pinpoint it, thinking it may be squirrels in the attic, before he realizes it’s coming from the front door. The peephole shows him nothing, but a vaguely familiar bark sounds out, followed by some panting and some whimpers and more scratching.

“Doggie!” Zahir calls out from behind him, toddling out of his room with his blanket in one hand, tripping over it but managing to catch himself as he hurries over.

“You should be in bed, mister,” Zayn says, letting Zahir grab the backs of his joggers and peer around his leg as he opens the door and Pig comes nosing in. Zahir launches himself at her almost immediately, petting and giggling when she licks his face, and Zayn uses one quick second to peek out onto the front walkup for Nick, confused when he doesn’t see him.

“Remember, Zahir, _gentle_. Pet the doggie nice,” he says.

“Doggie nice,” Zahir repeats as if he’s confirming.

Zayn pulls out his mobile and takes Zahir’s hand, leading him and Pig into the living room and keeping back his objections when Zahir half-climbs, half-pulls himself onto the couch and sits on his bum, Pig jumping up next to him and resting her head on his lap.

He brings his phone to his ear when he finds who he’s looking for.

“Zayn?” Harry’s voice is rough, like he’d been sleeping, and Zayn remembers that Harry’s been on location in Australia, where it’s barely even six am.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he mumbles, sitting in a chair. “I just need a favour.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Harry says, shifting a bit on the other end of the line.

“I need Nick’s number.”

“Nick?” Harry asks. “Grimmy?” he adds after a pause.

Zayn grits his teeth. “Yes,” he forces out, not wanting to deal with Harry’s admittedly understandable questions.

“Everything alright?” Harry asks, voice wary.

“S’fine, just his damn dog’s run away and she’s in me living room so if you could help me out…” he trails off.

“Erm, yeah,” Harry says, pulling the phone back from his face based on the way his words fade away. He taps on his screen a moment before he’s speaking clearly again. “Just sent it.”

“Thanks mate,” Zayn says before they hang up, his phone buzzing as he presses ‘end’.

He dials the number Harry has texted before he can think too much about it.

“Hello?” Nick’s voice is hesitant.

“Nick?”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Zayn.”

Immediately, Nick’s tone changes. “Oh, hi. Erm, not really a good time to talk.”

“Yeah, there’s someone in me living room that belongs to you.”

“Pig’s there?” Nick asks, voice urgent.

“Yep, having a bit of a love affair with my child. Come take her away, yeah?”

Nick sighs, clearly relieved. “Oh, you’ve no idea the panic I was in, I’ve been wandering the neighbourhood for half an hour.”

Zayn rattles off his address and hangs up, standing and watching as Zahir starts to fall asleep, blinking slowly until he brings his thumb to his mouth. He’s still got his blanket clutched in his hand, and he leans against Pig’s side. For her part, she stretches out a bit, nosing at his stomach before sneezing softly and laying still.

Zayn takes a picture- because he just can’t _not_ \- and watches them for a moment before a knock sounds at the front door. He looks out the peephole and sees Nick stood there, a lead hanging around his neck like a scarf.

He lets Nick in, surprised when Pig doesn’t move past a cursory tail wag, Zahir now completely wrapped around her spine.

“Oh, so cute,” Nick says, walking over to pet Pig. He addresses her next. “Don’t you ever think about taking off like that again,” he starts, “I’ll lose my mind.”

She seems less than concerned, snorting slightly like an actual pig and kicking out a leg.

Nick looks over his shoulder at Zayn. “Doesn’t look like she wants to leave.”

“Not staying here,” Zayn said with a pointed look. “Zahir needs to get some sleep in his bed and not on the sofa.”

Nick pouts. “I know, but how’m I supposed to deny this bond?”

Zayn rolls his eyes and tries to resist smiling too broadly, though he’s confident Nick can see the corners of his mouth twitch. He slips past Nick and gently untangles Zahir and his blanket from around Pig, patting her on the head when she looks up at him with big, sad eyes.

“He needs to sleep in a bed,” Nick says behind him.

Zayn’s confused for a moment before he realizes Nick’s talking to the dog.

“You’d think she answers you back,” he says as he hefts Zahir into his arms, thankful he’s such a heavy sleeper.

“She does, in her way,” Nick says agreeably.

Pig hops down from the couch and follows Zayn into Zahir’s room, nudging her nose against Zayn’s calf as he settles his son in bed and pulls up his blanket. He expects her to fight it, but she comes when he clucks to her, following him back into the living room where Nick’s still stood, waiting.

“Bad girl, Pigdog,” Nick says, dropping to one knee and scratching behind her ears as she licks at his chin. “Thank you for calling me,” he says, looking back up at Zayn.

“Yeah, f‘course.”

Nick smiles softly, the moment becoming a little awkward. He stands and brushes off the knees of his trousers.

“Guess we’d better go, don’t mean to take up any more of your time,” he says.

Zayn nods and bites his lip, walking Nick to the door. He stands back as Nick clips the lead around his neck to Pig’s collar, wrapping the slack around his fist.

“Bye, then,” Nick says, looking Zayn in the eye again.

“Yeah, bye,” Zayn says softly. He stands in the doorway as Nick leads Pig out, watching as she turns to look back at him and tug a bit at his grip.

“Hey,” Zayn says, a little louder than he’d meant.

Nick turns with Pig, looking at him.

“I’m sorry for making the comment about you and models.”

“S’okay,” Nick shrugs.

“Yeah, but. I shouldn’t have said anything. I was trying to make a joke but it wasn’t very funny.”

“Yeah, could do some work on that.”

Zayn smiles softly, leaning his head against the doorframe as he looks at Nick.

“I date models because I spend 80% of my life around models. I don’t have, like, a _thing_ where I _only_ date models.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Zayn says softly.

“I know,” Nick responds. “I just wanted you to know. I like people for who they are, not what they do.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looking at Nick.

“Goodnight, beauty,” Nick says with a toothy grin, tugging gently at Pig’s lead and coaxing her away with him.

“G’night,” Zayn calls out after him, turning back into his townhouse. He closes the door and locks it, leaning back against it for just a moment and letting himself smile like he’s in a rom-com before he shakes his head at himself and pushes off the door. He goes through the same routine he does every night after Zahir’s in bed, smoking a cigarette in the garden and thumbing through his emails and texts.

There’s a couple from Harry already, one full of the most vulgar emojis he probably could find, and Zayn laughs and sends back _the dog was here, Haz, honestly_

_You never know. xx_

Zayn debates responding but he doesn’t know what he’d say, finishing his cig and heading inside. He collapses face-first onto his bed, groaning into his pillow. Nick fucking Grimshaw should really not be making Zayn smile like a lovesick fool, but he bites a grin into the edge of his pillow and rolls his hips against the mattress a few times before concluding he’s actually not in the mood to pull one off, turning onto his side and tucking up under the covers instead.

~*~

Zahir’s particularly misbehaved over the next few days, stomping his feet and demanding “doggie” every time Zayn tries to get him to do _anything_.

“Fine,” he finally bitches as he loses his patience, tossing the carrot stick he’d been trying to get Zahir to eat back onto the plate. “Starve for all I care,” he says, slipping his hands under Zahir’s armpits and lifting him from his high chair.

“Doggie!” Zahir shouts, frustrated and demanding.

“Oh, go look for the bloody doggie then,” Zayn says, setting him on the ground and swatting his bum lightly.

Zahir giggles at having got his way and Zayn rolls his eyes, watching him toddle away and grabbing the abandoned carrot stick. He sticks it in the houmous, scooping some up and popping it in his mouth. It’s Zahir’s favorite snack, but he’s only been eating a few bites every meal since Pig had found her way to their house.

Nick fucking Grimshaw and his damned dog are disrupting Zayn’s entire life.

Zahir’s giggles float through the empty rooms to him, louder than they’ve any right to be, and Zayn grabs a piece of celery, scooping up some more dip, and stands to track down his son and discover the mischief he’s most likely found.

When he finds him, in the back room by the door that leads out to the garden, he stops in his tracks and almost spits out the chunk of celery in his mouth when he sees Pig through the door, Zahir standing with his hands on the glass like he’s looking at her in a zoo.

“How in the…” he trails off, utterly confused.

Zahir turns and sees him, smacking his palms on the glass. “Dog!” he shouts.

“Yeah, I see.”

Zayn feels like he’s moving through a fog as thick as syrup, slow as he approaches the door and unlatches it, letting Pig gallop inside.

It’s like watching two war-torn lovers reuniting after battle, the way the dog and toddler dance around each other.

“Hi, Pig,” Zayn says, leaning down to scratch her rump. “How’d you get loose again?”

She doesn’t answer apart from a wet kiss to his cheek before turning back to Zahir and nudging him with her snout, making him giggle loud and bright.

“Let’s call your dad, yeah? Let him know where you’ve wandered off to.”

He stands and slips out his phone, pulling up Nick’s contact and feeling a shot of déjà vu as he dials.

Nick answers the phone with a hasty, “is she there?” and Zayn laughs down the line. “Yeah, she’s here.”

He leads dog and child out of the room, shepherding them into the front room so he can keep an eye on them as he watches out the window for Nick.

He can’t help but smile as he watches them play, Pig taking one of Zahir’s toys in her mouth and shaking it, and then playing tug o’ war with him gently as if she’s being mindful that the toddler is weaker.

~*~

Over the next two months, Pig shows up at Zayn’s door no less than ten times, usually in the late afternoon but sometimes earlier, when Zahir’s down for his nap. Zayn’ll let her in and watch her make her way to Zahir’s room, jumping up on the bed and curling around her friend.

If Nick’s on a shoot, Zayn’ll call Daisy or Collette, whose ever turn it is to Pig-sit, but it happens most when Nick’s home. On those days, he’ll just send him a text and wait for his arrival, putting off thinking about how he knows Nick’s schedule so well.

It progresses soon from texts like _please come get your dog, Zahir and I have GOT to go to the store_ to texts like, _pick up some Thai on your way, Zahir likes massaman curry if it’s not too spicy._

Sometimes, Pig comes over after being invited, when Nick is coming for dinner some nights during the week if he’s home. Zayn even offers to Pig-sit after Collette can’t, arguing that it makes sense since she’s going to just show up anyway.

It’s a fun day, in fact, with Pig acting as a focus point for Zahir’s energy. They play all morning together, and Zahir actually lets Zayn show him the potty chair again, but only if Pig comes in the bathroom, too.

“I’m not letting you become co-dependent on a dog,” Zayn tells him, pressing a kiss to his forehead when he’s “flushed” the potty chair, clapping and earning a bark from Pig.

He puts them down together for a nap mid-afternoon, a bit later than usual, starting a load of laundry and straightening up the living room with his free time. His phone goes as he’s fixing the couch cushions, and he answers with a grin when he sees Harry’s face on his phone.

“Hey, Haz.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re dating Nick?”

He pauses, standing up. “‘m not?” he asks, confused.

“You’re not? Cause it sounds like you are?”

“I don’t know what you’re going on about, maybe you’ve been out in the sun too long,” Zayn says, trying to remember where in the world Harry Styles is today.

“It’s an indoor shoot, for one, and don’t be daft, for two. Nick told me you guys hooked up at my party and now you’ve been hanging out all the time.”

“We’re not _dating_ , though.”

“What do you call it then?”

Zayn frowns. Harry takes his silence as invitation to continue.

“You’ve introduced him to Zahir. He calls him _Grimmy_ , for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re so dramatic, Haz. Everyone calls him Grimmy but you.”

“And _you_.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Zayn snaps, getting irritated and feeling on edge. “We’re not bloody dating, what the fuck.”

“You’re awfully defensive about it.”

“I’m not going to have this argument with you. Did Nick say we’re dating?”

“Not in those words, but he said you’d been hanging out a lot when I talked to him on the phone.”

“Fucking call in the cavalry, then.”

“I just want you to be happy!” Harry snaps back, finally losing some of his cool. “Forgive me for wanting my best mate to be happy.”

Zayn sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I know you do, and I’m fine for right now. I’ve got Zahir, I don’t need anything more.”

Harry’s silent for a few seconds. “I feel you need to think about things with Nick.”

“We’re all fine,” Zayn insists.

“I know,” Harry says. “Just, give it a think, yeah? I’ve got to go.”

“Good luck,” Zayn says, feeling calmer than a moment ago. “Smile pretty.”

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, sure. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He stares at his phone after they hang up, confused.

He finishes tidying, frowning when he’s organizing near the front door and realizes there’s an empty space in the cubby where Nick’s shoes usually go and a spot on the table where his house keys sit when he visits. He keeps frowning when he does the dishes, the mug Nick always uses still sat in the sink from this morning when he’d dropped off Pig and come in to stay for a bit, a faint ring along the inside.

Nick had made a face at the tea, bemoaning the lack of green tea and Zayn had just laughed at him and slumped against his side a bit, bitching about the early hour. Nick had pressed a kiss to his temple and given Pig a hug good-bye before he left and Zayn had walked him to the door, where Nick grabbed his coat from its hook and his shoes from their cubby spot and...

Holy shit, he is totally dating Nick.

Zayn lets the dish he was cleaning slip back into the water, wiping his hands on the towel hanging over the oven handle as he tries to process the thought.

Unsure of what to do, Zayn just drains the sink and leaves the dishes alone, making his way to Zahir’s room on auto-pilot and waking him up from his nap. Usually a terror when he’s woke, Zahir is especially clingy this time, arms around Zayn’s neck and warm cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“You alright babe?” he asks, rubbing his back gently and settling in the rocking chair in Zayn’s room. Pig stays on the bed but keeps an eye on them, tail wagging when Zayn looks over.

“Miss him,” Zahir says, a pout on his lips.

“Who do you miss?”

“Grimmy.”

Zayn’s heart somehow swells and sinks at the same time, the same rush of warmth that Nick always inspires rushing through him as dread also fills his gut at the thought of his son getting close to someone who might not stay.

“Grimmy’ll come see you soon.”

“Pig.”

“Yeah, Grimmy’s gonna take Pig back to her house.”

“No,” Zahir mumbles, drawing out the vowel.

Zayn laughs softly, rocking with him and singing the Urdu alphabet song until Zahir pushes back from his chest and half-sings along. Zayn doesn’t know how much of the song he understands, but he’s happy his son is learning his culture.

They spend the rest of the day in the back garden, Zahir throwing a ball for Pig and playing a toddler-version of football, Pig chasing him around the grass and trying to nose the ball away from him.

They are all exhausted after dinner and a bath for Zahir, Zayn letting baby and dog in his bed for company. He falls asleep without his nightly cigarette or notification routine, scrolling through his messages just enough to verify there is nothing that can’t wait.

~*~

He wakes in the morning to knocking on his door, disoriented for a moment until he remembers why there’s a dog paw digging into his back and a small human halfway down the bed and with his feet somehow on the pillow next to Zayn.

He slips out of bed and makes his way to the front door, opening it without realizing he’s shirtless and in a pair of cotton joggers so threadbare they’re tearing along the seams.

“Hi,” Nick says, eyes wide as his gaze fixes on Zayn’s chest tattoos.

“Hi,” Zayn answers back, smiling wide. He feels the stretch in his cheeks, the flush heating his skin as Nick continues looking at him like he’s someone special.

“You look good,” Zayn says, referring to the new tan he’s sporting. He steps back and lets Nick come in, rubbing his palm against his buzzed hair as his conversation with Harry comes back to his mind.

“Yeah, you always look good, beauty.” Nick says, kicking off his shoes and lining them up in the space made for him, the space Zayn started leaving one day but never realized why.

“Harry says we’re dating.” he blurts out without thinking.

Nick fish-mouths at him. “I didn’t tell him,” he finally says, tone confused.

“Are we dating?” Zayn asks.

If anything, Nick looks even more lost. “Aren’t we?”

Panicking and realizing now why the morning is the absolute worst time to have any kind of serious conversation, Zayn crosses his arms over his chest, palms against his sides.

“Are we not dating?” Nick asks, voice going high.

“I don’t bloody know!” Zayn snaps, trying- and failing- to keep his voice down. Zahir sleeps soundly and Pig won’t leave him in bed alone so he doesn’t think he’s going to disturb either of them but it is still morning and he doesn’t want to hear any complaints from his neighbours.

“I thought we were,” Nick admits.

“We don’t kiss or have sex,” Zayn points out.

“I thought we were taking this slow, after Harry’s party. I didn’t want you to think I just like hooking up with models.”

“Slow is fine,” Zayn huffs, dropping his hands. “We could move faster than a bloody glacier, though.”

Nick pauses, looking him in the eye at that. “Are you saying we _are_ dating or we’re _not_? Because I’m completely lost.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and shrugs. “We could be,” he says, voice small.

“Yeah?”

“I mean,” he stalls, not used to admitting his feelings. “I’d like that, if we were.”

Nick comes closer, using one hand to tilt Zayn’s chin up and meet his gaze. “I’d like it, too,” he says, leaning in and pressing his mouth gently to Zayn’s cheek.

Zayn turns his head to meet Nick’s lips, keeping the kiss brief and soft before he pulls back.

There’s a blush high in Nick’s cheeks and at the bottom of his throat, and Zayn leans in to kiss the heated skin just as gently as he’d kissed his lips.

“Are we at the cuddling point of this relationship?” Nick asks.

Zayn grins, looking back up at him. “Is that the most interesting thing you can think to do?” he challenges, blatantly licking his lips.

Nick rolls his eyes and chuffs him under the chin with his index finger. “Naughty,” he chides. “I’m pretty sure there’s little ones in our midst, we should best behave for now.”

Zayn laughs, feeling all of his earlier tension leak out of his shoulders.

“While I don’t see the fun in that,” he teases, “I could use about another day or two worth of sleep before either of the monsters wake up.”

“Pig’s not a _monster_ ,” Nick defends, letting Zayn pull him along to the living room.

“Yes, she is. She enables Zahir.”

“S’not her fault, Zahir sets her up to take the fall.”

Zayn laughs and pushes him to lay along the couch, crowding up and settling himself on top of him so his stomach is in the ‘V’ of Nick’s hips and his head is on Nick’s chest. “Zahir didn’t eat all the loo roll and vom it up in my back garden,” he reminds.

“Pig didn’t figure out the child safety lock and leave the door open.”

“Fair point,” Zayn concedes, laying his cheek to Nick’s chest and closing his eyes.

Too soon to be satisfied with his nap, he hears a bark and the tell-tale sound of little feet and littler nails on the hardwood floors. He peeks one eye open, Nick’s even breathing beneath him indicating he’s still sleeping.

Zahir comes around the corner, Zayn can see in his peripheral, with Pig’s collar in one hand and his blanket in the other.

“Shh, Pig,” Zahir says, causing her to crook her head at him as she listens. “Baba and Grimmy sleeping.”

She snorts a bit, sniffing at the hand holding his blanket, possibly looking for the pacifier he sometimes still carries.

Zayn watches Zahir pet her again, pulling at her gently to turn her around towards the kitchen. Remembering the last time Zahir ‘did breakfast’- how he got into the cabinet with the flour, Zayn will never know- he sighs and gets up from the boy under his chest, pressing a kiss to Nick’s chin and making his way into the kitchen.

“Hiya,” he calls out, catching Zahir as he tries to push over a chair to climb onto the counter.

“ _Baba_!” Zahir calls out, abandoning the chair and running to Zayn’s legs. “Up!” he demands.

“Don’t try to distract me with affection, Zahir,” Zayn chides him sweetly. “I saw you pushing the chair.”

“Brekkie,” Zahir says, clearly unconcerned with Zayn catching him red-handed.

“Baba makes breakfast, not Zahir.”

“Zahir helps,” he says, smiling proudly. “Pig helps.”

“How does Pig help, hmm?” he asks, setting Zahir down on the counter and ducking into a cupboard below for the plug-in griddle. He sets it on the opposite counter from Zahir, so he won’t be tempted to put his hands on the hot surface.

“Pig helps,” Zahir repeats, as if that’s explanation.

“Okay, I can’t win against that argument.”

He comes back quickly to Zahir, before he decides he wants to hop down from the counter or something, and puts a big mixing bowl next to him.

“Pancakes?” he asks, smiling when Zahir nods in affirmation.

“Okay, good. Are you going to be my helper? Where’s your apron?”

“There!” Zahir points to the hook behind Zayn’s head.

“Very good, let me grab it for ya.”

“Pig apron,” Zahir demands.

“Pig doesn’t need an apron, but she does need to go outside. Will you let her out for me, please?” Zayn asks, setting him on the ground and watching him go to the sliding door in the dining nook, grabbing the apron while Zahir pushes the screen open.

“Close it,” he reminds him when he turns around.

When Zahir comes back, mission accomplished, Zayn lifts him onto the counter again and slips the apron over his head, leaving it untied.

“I’m going to put you in charge of the blueberries, can you handle them?” he asks, face completely serious.

Zahir thinks about it for a second. “Yes.”

“Good.” He sets the carton of blueberries on the counter and grabs a half-dozen muffin tin, showing Zahir how to fill the six wells with the fruit, one-by-one. It’s a trick his mum used with them growing up, letting them help before they could count. It keeps the amount of blueberries in each pancake consistent, and keeps Zahir occupied while Zayn mixes the batter.

Pig’s separation anxiety must be getting too strong, as she’s pawing at the back door. Zayn tells Zahir to stay put and quickly lets her inside. She rushes to the counter, sniffing at Zahir’s dangling leg before dashing into the living room. Zayn assumes she’s checking on Nick, more so when she returns alone and lays down under Zahir, eyes alert as she watches the sway of his foot.

“Great job!” Zayn says when Zahir tells him they’re out of blueberries. The wells look pretty equal- his baby is a genius, after all- and he sets Zahir back on the ground and turns to start the pancakes.

“Can’t touch, too hot,” he reminds when Zahir pouts that he doesn’t get to sit on the other counter.

“Hot,” he repeats with a frown and a flick of his hand, like that’s an argument, and Zayn laughs.

“Go wake Grimmy,” he suggests. “Tell him brekkie is almost ready.”

Deciding that’s an equally important task, Zahir races out of the room with Pig on his heels, his apron strings trailing along behind him. Zayn hears Nick grunt, presumably when Zahir climbs up next to him on the couch, never one to mind his knees.

After a moment, when he’s sprinkling the blueberries on top of the batter, getting ready to flip them and finish, Nick comes in with Zahir on his shoulders and Pig yipping at his heels.

“Put my child down,” Zayn demands, forcing himself to not smile when Zahir giggles and pulls at Nick’s hair. “You’re too bloody tall.”

“Am not,” Nick argues, leaning forward and catching Zayn’s mouth in a quick kiss. Zayn smiles when Zahir shouts out “me too!” and Nick hunches down a bit further so Zayn can press up on his toes and smack his lips to Zahir’s cheek.

“Not too tall, huh?” he teases Nick. “You’re gonna hurt your back doing that.”

“Pish posh,” Nick answers as he straightens, hands holding Zahir’s feet.

“Pish posh!” Zahir shouts.

Zayn glares at Nick, fighting a laugh as Nick pales slightly when Zahir continues to repeat his new phrase.

“Oops, forgot about little humans having little ears,” Nick admits.

“Grimmy taught you your first sassy phrase, let’s not forget that,” Zayn says as Nick lifts Zahir down.

“Not fair, Pig can’t learn sassy phrases.”

She snorts when she hears her name, nosing at Zahir’s hands until her pets her. As if he ever needs any convincing to do that.

“Is there tea?” Nick asks hopefully.

Zayn nods towards the kettle and finishes the pancakes, watching Nick as he grabs his mug from the drying rack and pours the boiling water over a bag of black tea, making a face as he does so.

“I need to do a big shop,” Zayn says after a moment. Nick turns to him, head tilted the same way Pig always does when Zahir talks and it’s hard to not laugh but Zayn somehow manages, enjoying his observation.

“You could come with us, if you’d like. Get the gross green tea you prefer.”

Nick’s face lights up. “Can we get a press, too?” he asks, excited.

“Buying the bags is perfectly fine,” Zayn says, turning back and flipping the pancakes onto a plate in a somewhat-neat stack.

“Tea for you and what for the little ones?” Nick asks, pouring a mug for Zayn as well.

“Since Pig can’t speak, I’ll assume she wants water,” Zayn teases. “Zahir, what do you want to drink?”

“Milk,” he decides, looking up from where he’s playing with Pig with a grin. Nick grabs a glass but his smile fades and he pouts, standing up and tugging at Nick’s trousers.

“I want baba,” he says, frowning at him when Nick looks down.

“Sorry,” Zayn apologizes, setting the plate of food on the table and coming back. “He’s weird about people pouring drinks for him.”

Nick arches his eyebrow but laughs. “That’s the most unique thing I’ve heard. You Maliks are a special breed, for certain.”

Zayn tries to pretend that doesn’t make him feel warm throughout but he doesn’t think he succeeds by the way Nick’s smile turns soft.

They manage to make it through breakfast without too many mishaps, though Nick does inadvertently teach Zahir to feed Pig from the table.

“I didn’t think he’d see me!” Nick pouts, slumping back in his seat.

“He’s a toddler, Nick, he sees everything he isn’t supposed to.”

Nick grumbles good-naturedly, making a face at Zahir, who pulls one back.

“Bub, don’t make faces,” Zayn says, ripping up another pancake for him.

“Grimmy though,” he says.

“Grimmy’s bad, you don’t want to be bad.”

“Zahir good,” he decides, grabbing the pieces Zayn rips off for him and bringing them to his mouth.

“I see how it is, leave me alone on the bad side.”

“Bad,” Zahir says. “Fish fish.”

“Does that mean I’m off the hook for the bad words if he’s got them wrong now?” Nick tries.

Zayn shakes his head and grins, discreetly slipping a piece down to Pig.

“Baba bad,” Zahir chirps out, clearly having caught him, too.

“Worth a shot,” he says, smirking at Nick.

They clean up quickly, Nick wiping off Zahir’s sticky hands and face before letting him out of the high chair. He runs off with Pig and Zayn lets Nick crowd him against the sink after he’s done with the dishes, kissing sweetly for a few minutes before they pull apart.

“I can’t believe you thought we were dating,” Zayn says.

“I can’t believe you thought we _weren’t_ , Nick counters. “Name one thing we did today that’s different from before besides snogging.”

“Snogging’s a big part of it, though,” Zayn says, frowning when he can’t think of anything else different.

“Well, we’re both on the same page now,” Nick says, coaxing him into another kiss, letting his lips part just enough to tease. “Little humans are the worst,” he sighs when he pulls back. “Can never have fun when they’re around.”

“Your dog isn’t a human,” Zayn says with a laugh, slipping from between Nick and the counter.

“That’s rude and untrue, take it back,” Nick says as he follows him.

“Mmm, nope. Sorry, babe. Pig’s not a person.”

“She can _hear you_ ,” he hisses as they approach the play room.

Inside, Pig’s dressed in one of Zahir’s batman capes, a tool belt around her belly. She pants at them when they come in.

“Tell me that’s not a smile, she’s completely human.”

Zayn just settles cross-legged on the ground, helping Zahir into his Green Lantern playsuit.

Nick sits down next to him, tilting his head onto Zayn’s shoulder and yawning.

“Want to go sleep in my bed, babe? I’ll watch these two.”

“No,” Nick protests, shaking his head and nuzzling a bit into Zayn’s bare shoulder. “You don’t treat Pig like a person, I can’t trust you with her anymore.”

“Pig doggie,” Zahir says, watching them with wide eyes.

“Ganging up on me again,” Nick pouts. “I’m going to bed, wake me when everyone’s nice. Pig, are you coming?”

She wags her tail but doesn’t move otherwise, and Nick laughs as he gets to his feet.

“Wake me when they’re down for their N-A-P,” he spells with a smile and a lewd wink.

Zayn flushes but doesn’t deny that was his plan all along, tilting his head back for a kiss before Nick goes.

He spends the rest of the morning playing Justice League, constantly forced to play the villain. He’s so tired when the he puts them down for their nap that he just curls into Nick’s side in bed, scooting his way under Nick’s arm. He doesn’t fall asleep right away, making a mental list of everything they need to do to get Zahir ready for shopping. He always takes a little coaxing into his jacket and shoes, but he loves sitting in the trolley through the store.

Nick tugs him closer in his sleep, and Zayn tucks his always-cold nose into the curve of Nick’s neck, closing his eyes and going through his list again. Fruit, veg, lamb for Sunday. Frozen chips and fish fingers for Zahir’s picky days. Chicken to make soup, as it’s supposed to get cold again the next week. Green tea for Nick. He smiles a bit and snuggles into Nick’s chest further. He likes the idea of buying things for Nick, likes that he’s comfortable enough in Zayn’s home to request fancy presses.

He falls asleep between one breath and the next, burrowed in Nick’s side and listening to the sounds of Pig’s snores from the next room, assuring him that all’s well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Here is my [tumblr tag](http://sa-voix.tumblr.com/tagged/zahir%20fic) for this story's inspiration, come say hi!


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